by Mike Kraus
The scent of blood filled his stomach with disgust, and though his stomach protested, he performed a quick search of the desk drawers, turning up a master keycard to all the rooms. Grabbing the shovel, he exited the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
“Dad, are you okay in there?” That was Sam, calling from outside.
“I’m fine, honey. Coming out now.”
He moved across the hall and through the messy storeroom, stepping out into the chilly night once more. Sam and Jerry both looked miserable and cold, though it was better than the fate of the employees inside.
“What’s in there?” the young man asked.
“You don’t want to know,” Tom replied grimly, holding the card up. “I’ve got a master key and we have a place to rest. That’s the most important thing.”
“Score,” Jerry said, falling in behind him as they moved around to the front of the hotel.
“Why don’t we want to know what happened in there?” Sam asked, tagging along.
“Because it’s bad.”
“Like, bad bad?”
“Exactly like that,” Tom agreed. “Someone robbed the place and killed two employees inside. It’s an ugly scene, trust me.”
Sam clamped her mouth shut, her expression grim, her face unreadable. Back in front, Tom looked along the row of rooms to see which one would be best. They were all pretty much the same, though a few near the office appeared to be larger suites. They wouldn’t be fancy, but the more space the better, particularly since splitting up would put them at a disadvantage. He chose #7, putting the key against the reader and listening to the satisfying click as the bolt popped before pushing the door open and squeezing inside, flipping on a light.
“Welcome to the presidential suite,” Tom announced with a flourish at the good-sized room with two queen-sized beds, a couch, a desk, a vanity sink, and a small kitchen-style table with a pair of chairs.
He let the others in and shut the door behind them, throwing the deadbolt and letting his backpack slide to the floor. He immediately went to the blinds and separated them with his fingers, looking out in the parking lot to see if anyone had noticed their intrusion.
Sam shuffled to the table and slung Jerry’s bag of snacks on it before letting her own backpack slide off with a sigh. She wobbled backwards, trying to shrug off her coat but failing before her legs hit the bed. Collapsing back, she hit the mattress hard, arms spread wide, a gust of air bursting from her lungs, and less than twenty seconds later her light snores filled the room. Tom turned and saw her lying with her jacket half-on, mouth hanging open and strands of wet hair across her face.
“Out cold,” Jerry said, looking over. “That’s about how I feel.”
Tom moved to the nightstand between the beds, flipped on the light, and went back to turn off the main switch, satisfied with the much dimmer room. “Better.” And safer, he thought.
“I wonder how the power is on here but not in the other hotel?” Jerry eased himself down onto the edge of the second bed.
“I’m not a hundred percent sure.” Tom circled over to Sam and helped get her jacket the rest of the way off. The girl groaned as he removed one arm, then the other, shifting her body so he could pull the coat from beneath her. “I don’t think this place would have a generator, so it might just be the luck of the grid. You know how sometimes one subdivision block can have electricity but everything around it is dead?”
“We go through it every hurricane season.” Jerry nodded.
He held up Sam’s soggy jacket and hung it on the back of a chair to dry, then he bent down to remove her shoes and socks.
“I’ll see if we’ve got hot water.” Jerry stood and walked into the bathroom.
“Hey, check and make sure there’s a window back there,” Tom called, placing Sam’s shoes aside and peeling her wet socks from her feet.
“Roger that,” came the reply.
Wet socks and shoes in hand, he crossed over to the air conditioning unit by the window and, flipping up the control panel hood, Tom pressed the button for the heat, setting it for low to get started. Despite the power being on, their streak of bad luck refused to let him believe that it would turn on until it finally did. Reaching out, he held up his hands to the vent until warm air flowed, then he increased the power to medium and draped Sam’s socks over the top. A nearby chair was placed in front of the heater next, shoes arranged in the seat to warm them up and dry them off.
The sound of water bursting from a nozzle came from the bathroom, and five seconds later, Jerry gave a pleased whoop.
The young man’s head poked out. “We’ve got hot water!”
“And the window?”
“Yep, just like all the other rooms. Sam can definitely fit through. It’ll be a tight fit for us, though.”
“That’s good enough.” Tom gave a satisfied nod. “Why don’t you take a shower and get warmed up. Throw your shoes and socks over here and I’ll start them drying.”
“That’s the best part.” Jerry grinned. “There’s a mini washer and dryer in here, too.”
“Oh, that is great.” Tom closed his eyes in relief. “We’ll still use the air conditioner to dry our shoes, but the rest of our clothes can go in the washers.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go first?” Jerry sat in a chair, reached down, and untied his laces with his good hand.
“No, you go ahead.” Tom sat on the edge of the second bed and removed his own socks and shoes. “Do you need help?”
“I got it,” Jerry said. A burst of excited adrenaline fueled the young man, and his shoes and socks were on the floor in less than a minute. Tom chuckled, glad to finally be in a safe, warm room for the first time all day. Jerry tried to scoop up his wet articles when Tom waved him off. “Leave them there. I’ll get them.”
“Thanks.” Jerry turned and walked gingerly into the bathroom where steam was already leaking out.
“Make sure you take off your sling,” Tom called in as he collected his things. “And be careful with your head. Let me know if you need any help.”
“Yes, sir,” Jerry called back just before the door shut.
Tom placed the young man’s socks and shoes on the chair and vents to dry. There wasn’t quite enough room for them all to sit in front of the warm air flow at the same time, but he could easily rotate them and make sure they got equal time in the heat.
He stood with a groan, luxuriating in the feel of his bare feet on the dry, prickly carpet. Back aching, shoulders sore from carrying the backpack all day, Tom rolled his shoulders and went to check on Sam. He hated letting her sleep in damp clothes, but they didn’t have anything else to wear until they could take stock and dry out. Lifting her legs, he straightened her out and then put his arms beneath her to reposition her so her head lay on the pillow. She groaned and mumbled weakly in protest, her body shivering as a throw cover from the couch went over her shoulders, then she curled up on her side with a contented sigh.
Moving back to the air unit, he turned the heat to high, readjusted their shoes, and peered between the blinds once more. The lot was quiet except for an occasional passing car on the expressway and the sounds of voices from the next hotel over; if anyone had noticed them entering their room, they either didn’t care or had bigger fish to fry. Tom rolled his shoulders again and allowed some built-up tension to escape. Despite feeling safer, his mind wouldn't rest. Taking his backpack to the table, he put two chairs side-by-side and moved Sam and Jerry’s packs over to make room, then he opened them up and began unpacking the contents into organized stacks on the table.
He pulled out three ragged boxes of donuts and placed them in a row, followed by fifteen pure-protein energy bars, twenty-two bottled waters, seven caffeinated energy drinks, a box of meat sticks, and a smaller pack of spicy jerky plus a small plastic bin of scones from the coffee shop.
“Coffee.”
Tom stepped to the long bureau with the TV and complimentary coffee maker. Filling up the pot from the vani
ty sink, he tore open a pack of coffee and started a fresh brew, then he found the TV remote and took it with him back to the table, flipping on the TV to white noise while he continued with their inventory.
There were four flashlights, some rope, tape, and scissors, three pillows from the RV, his first aid kit, phone charger, and an assortment of clothing harvested from suitcases. While they were wearing most of what they’d found to keep themselves warm, they still had some extra T-shirts and socks in their packs. Tom placed the garments over the back of a chair and went to fetch his coffee, stirring in some powdered cream and sugar. He stepped away from the TV with his beverage in one hand and the remote in the other. Pointing it at the screen, he flipped through channels not expecting to find anything, though in two clicks, a distorted image of a news broadcast with broken audio bled through.
“Must be picking up a local station on the antennae,” he said to himself as he took the first sip of coffee, the cheap, bitter brew warming his throat and stomach, tasting like it had come from heaven itself. Tom backed up and sat on the bed near Sam’s feet, lifting the remote and turning up the volume.
“...the president is backing a statewide of emergency for all East Coast cities as floodwaters continue to rise. Experts say the freshwater surge from the anomaly hasn’t slowed down and is still spewing billions of gallons of freshwater into the ocean. Emergency services are urging residents to remain calm and report any incidents of looting to the local police...”
“There’s more than looting going on, lady.” Tom shook his head. “There’s murder. Plus, how can we call if our cell phones aren’t working?”
The thought of his cellphone reminded him that he’d actually been able to receive and send texts at one point, so he placed the remote on a table and pulled his phone from his pocket. A quick check revealed no new messages from Barbara, though, and he still couldn’t reach the internet through a browser app. With a sigh, Tom retrieved the phone charger and plugged his device into the wall, listening as the news broadcast continued.
“... Canada’s Prime Minister praised President John Zimmerman for putting a bold face on a difficult situation. The US President’s speech is on replay around the world as countries cope with the ramifications of rising waters and cooling temperatures. Mexico’s President, Juan Carlos Esposito re-iterated their alliance with the United States, though we have no word yet on whether the two countries are actively developing a plan to...”
The sound turned garbled, voices warbling and drowned out by static before clearing five seconds later, though Tom had heard enough. He lowered the volume and shivered as the hot coffee worked through his veins, throwing off the chill, feeling more energized than he had in days in spite of his exhaustion. The bathroom door opened behind him and he turned to see Jerry peeking out in a burst of warm steam, wearing a big, fluffy robe, his hair hung damp on his forehead, and his cheeks a rosy color.
“That was amazing.” The young man spoke in a whisper.
“How’s the arm?” Tom asked, waving him out. “Let’s see.”
Jerry stepped into the room and slowly flexed his limb. “It doesn’t feel bad, actually. I can move it, at least.”
“I want to see the skin.” Tom gestured and Jerry came over and gently tugged up the robe’s sleeve. Tom could barely see in the shadowy light, and he set his coffee cup down, turning the young man toward a lamp resting on the bureau, flipping it on and raising the wounded arm and its pinkish flesh.
“It doesn’t look too bad,” Tom said, inspecting the scuffs. “I think the bandage kept the infection out. Here, let’s redress it.”
They moved over to their supplies, Jerry taking a chair. Tom opened his first aid kit, kneeling next to the young man, removing the tube of antiseptic and the rest of his gauze and bandages, placing them in a row at the table’s edge.
“Do you think whoever broke in the place is still around?”
Tom shrugged. “I’m honestly not sure, but I hope not.”
“I mean, how bad were the people--”
“Killed?” Tom raised his eyebrows. “Pretty much all the way. Dead as doornails, as the saying goes.”
“I mean, how did it happen?”
“Does it really matter?”
The young man shrugged as Tom applied ointment to the skinned parts of his arm.
“Blunt force, from the looks of things. But I think we should drop the subject,” he sighed. “It’ll only make you nervous. We need to stay vigilant, but we also need to stay focused on what we can control.”
“Right.”
Jerry sat quietly for a minute as Tom used a cotton swab to spread the ointment over his skin. The young man winced a time or two, but otherwise handled the discomfort well.
“Where are you from?” Jerry asked. “I mean, I know you live in Virginia now, but originally?”
“Ah. Well, I was a military brat, son of an Army Colonel. We moved around a lot as a kid. It was tough making friends, but I had my books. I mean, they traveled with me, you know?”
“I know,” Jerry responded with a nod.
“It was a blessing in disguise. It kept me out of trouble and got me into MIT.”
“I didn’t realize you went to school there, but it doesn’t surprise me. Not after you figured out the whole temperature thing.”
“I just put two and two together.”
“Two plus two is surprisingly hard for a lot of people, if you know what I mean.”
Tom glanced up. Jerry’s eyelids lay half shut, his previous burst of energy waning in light of the soothing shower and medical treatment.
Jerry continued. “Do you think people understand it’s going to get way cold? Like, not just a few degrees.”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“We kind of do. It’s still the end of summer, and I shouldn’t be able to step outside and see my breath. And the RV window back in the tunnel. It had a layer of ice on it.”
“Two valid points,” Tom admitted with a wry smile. “Hopefully, things level off and it doesn’t get much worse. At least not until people are able to prepare.”
“Do you think...” Jerry let his words trail off.
“What?”
“Do you think people will be forced to move south? I mean, if it gets really bad up north, how long could they stay in the northern latitudes?”
“That’s a question I don’t think anyone can answer.” Tom forced a thin smile. “At least not until some time passes.”
“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen,” Jerry finished.
“I agree with you there.”
Tom finished bandaging Jerry’s arm and let his robe sleeve fall. “All done. Why don’t you take the second bed and get some sleep?”
“Best thing I’ve heard all day.”
Jerry stood and shuffled over to the other bed, throwing back a corner of covers, climbing in and crawling beneath them. He rested his head gently on the pillow with a sigh. Smiling wanly, Tom sipped his coffee and moved to the blinds. Fingers pressed between the slats, he separated them and peered into the dark parking lot yet again. The lights from the Château’s sign and building glinted off the puddles, raindrops falling in a light drizzle, but no one appeared to be watching from the shadows and no groups of people gathered in the lot. They were, it would seem, safe.
Tom grabbed one of the unused chairs, turned it around, and wedged it beneath the door handle before killing the television and both lamps, leaving him with a sliver of light from the bathroom to see by. He picked a dry pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and socks from the pile of things and laid them out on the table, then he gathered all the dirty clothes and took them into the bathroom. Shutting the door, he stripped down and threw everything in the washing machine. With laundry soap from the cabinet, Tom started their first load, the thought of clean, dry clothes boosting his mood through the weariness and aches coursing through his body.
He turned on the shower and held his hand beneath the steaming hot spray, a shiver running up th
e back of his legs as he stepped in and got beneath the piping hot spray. He’d originally wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible but ended up staying in for an extended length of time, washing up and standing beneath the spigot’s hard spray as it pounded down on his shoulders, the steaming water washing away both dirt and the aches from his sore muscles.
Ten minutes later, he felt like a regular human being again and once dressed, he found his way to the couch, taking his coffee with him, his thoughts drifting to Barbara and the kids back home. Tom and Sam being gone had undoubtedly been hard on them, especially as they would have seen the news and started preparing for the diminishing temperatures, particularly if they had worked on getting any remaining crops harvested. Even with Tom and Sam’s help it was a multi-day project just to get them gathered, nevermind the processing and storage. We’ll be there soon enough, he thought, just hold out a little while longer.
Tom’s thoughts were interrupted by the ding of the washer, and after he flipped the clean laundry to the dryer he returned to the couch, laid down and stuffed a throw pillow behind his head, relaxing with a sigh. He closed his eyes, his mind returning to his family as he imagined Barbara standing by the field, directing the youngsters on what to harvest while Smooch ran around barking like crazy. The dog would try to distract Jack and keep him from his duties, but the boy’s mother would get control of that situation quick. She’d order the German Shepherd away and get their son back to picking, ruling over the activities like a fair but ruthless dictator, ensuring that no matter what happened, the family would be kept safe and secure.
Tom allowed himself a tentative smile as weariness forced him to shut down. He finally surrendered to it, drifting into a peaceful sleep devoid of screaming wind and rain and murderous people, filled with thoughts of seeing his family once again.
Chapter 16